i'd like to thank everyone that took photos when it wasn't me. especially the pro photographer that i ran into at eastside gallery in germany who seemed to put way too much effort into trying to make me look good with disposable camera tourist photos. ("seriously, dude, the light will never be good enough to make me look like anything but what i am, so quit playing with the damn angle and take a photo already!")
a toddler took this photo in the streets of Wiesbaden. Behind me is a beautiful Roman Catholic Church that gets dropped from the tourist stuff, though this is more beautiful than the Lutheran church in the marketplace and just as old: St. Boniface's Catholic Church.
in the english gardens with r_____ b______, we decided to walk to that thing over there.
look, we're almost there!
victory is ours! we walked to the thing over there. this is what it looks like from the inside. notice the columns like teeth and this thing i'm standing next to like a tongue, announcing in marble the greatness of kings. that king, actually, wasn't so great...
three blocks from my hostel and one from the place where the horrible wall used to stand in the beating heart of urban berlin, there's a large goat farm. all around us, ruined skyscrapers wax and wane. imagine turning a corner in queens, and walking into a large goat farm.
this is the sniper tower. young men drank vodka with high-powered rifles waiting for their chance to kill in the name of communism. it looks like a mace, to me. an old medieval weapon, and a symbol of authority, and a young man sat inside with vodka and cigarettes to keep him warm, and a rifle that probably had a woman's name when he talked to it. the state was his mother, his lover, his one true friend.
now, with much fanfare and huzzah allow me to show you the face of the man who made the call on the glorious day the wall came down. there's a book about him, and i'm holding it. look the details up for yourself.
hm... where did the eastside gallery go? ah, there it is:
the pictures always finally return the moment one starts to forget the adventure. digital cameras are so instantaneous. old cameras with film always seem to come home from the developer at just the right moment to refresh the mind of the adventures.
end of transmission.
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